


espresso and a half

by emkayss



Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M, coffee shop AU, its only barely rated m, like theres very vague handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emkayss/pseuds/emkayss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The barista at the place Jem frequents is, frankly, hot. He's tall and slim, built in a way that keeps him looking lean; Jem thinks he must run or something, with the way he fills out the black button up he wears for work. He's got black hair that's so black it's almost blue, so black that it must be darker than Jem's hair before he dyed to the silvery grey it is now. </p><p>Jem thinks he might say this guy’s beautiful, if someone bothered to ask him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	espresso and a half

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [espresso and a half](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116865) by [CamSanders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamSanders/pseuds/CamSanders)



> I don't usually do the "take you home on the first date" but I really wanted to write heronstairs kisses and I had a feeling you guys would all be okay with that.
> 
> NOW WITH A [SEQUEL](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4402133) COURTESY OF FLOPPY!!!!! ENJOY VOLLEYBALL!WILL

 

_"Let's make love, coffee, and magic._ "

 

The best thing about university, Jem thinks, is the coffee. It's not so much that it tastes better, but that he has an excuse to drink as much as he does. He’s up until the early hours of the morning all the time; he’s got essays to write, exams to study for, songs to practice and perfect and memorize for playing tests. 

There’s a cafe nestled on a quiet city block somewhere between home and school beside an old cinema that plays indie movies and old black and white silent films. There's a pizza place down the way, a diner too, but Jem pays certain attention to the coffee place, with its wide windows and brick walls, shiny espresso machines and mugs lined up on the shelf behind. It’s the kind of place where hipsters hang out, art majors with thick framed black glasses, worn flannel shirts with holes in the hems thrown over bands Jem hasn’t heard of. Jem doesn’t feel exactly out of place there; he’s comfortable in faded t-shirts and his beat up blue runners. People give Jem nods of respect when they notice his hair, the unnatural colour of it, the way he’s perfected running his fingers through it with a bit of gel to achieve that I-have-literally-just-rolled-out-of-bed look.

And the barista makes Jem’s choice of cafe rather simple.

The barista at the place Jem frequents is, frankly, hot. Jem feels a little guilty thinking that, because calling someone _hot_ feels a little crude to him, but there’s not really another word in Jem’s vocabulary to describe him. He's tall and slim, built in a way that keeps him looking lean; Jem thinks he must run or something, with the way he fills out the black button up he wears for work. He's got black hair that's so black it's almost blue, so black that it must be darker than Jem's hair before he dyed to the silvery grey it is now. 

Jem thinks he might say this guy’s beautiful, if someone bothered to ask him.  

He’s been nursing a crush on this guy, or Barista Boy as Tessa’s fondly come to know him as, for ages. He’d started working at the coffee shop sometime in Jem’s second year of university, and Jem’s got to watch his hair grow out into ringlets, see a tattoo of a bird with its wings outstretched show up on the soft skin of the inside of his forearm one day.He’s got to see him in snug black t-shirts in the summer and pullovers in the coldest months of the winter. Jem’s seen his grin fade into nothing over the course of days, weeks, months, see the bruising bags under his eyes grow until Jem wants to tell him to go home, to curl up in bed and drift off to sleep.

.

Things start to change at the beginning of his third year. The year starts the same as the ones before it; Jem and Tessa come in once in a while and take over a four-person table, matching silver laptops booted up and coffee cups balanced on top of piles of paper. Tessa, his long time best friend and current housemate, is an English major; she’s always got at least three books on the go, and some kind of literary factoid to lob at Jem.  

Halfway through a study session sometime in the middle of November, Barista Boy’sshift starts and he walks behind the counter, black button up tight around his shoulders as he reaches behind him to tie the strings of his blue apron. 

Jem sighs as Tessa stands; she’s been waiting for Barista Boy’s shift to start before she orders their drinks. She strides over to counter, and when Jem’s black-haired, blue-eyed dream boy notices the customer, Tessa whips her head back and winks at Jem. That poor guy, Jem thinks. He must be convinced Tessa’s hitting on him when she’s just to get her best friend laid. 

Jem watches the exchange, like he always does, partly because he wants to be able to jump in if Tessa does something a little too forward, and partly because he likes having an excuse to watch Barista Boy talk. He’d like having an excuse to watch him do anything, frankly. 

Barista Boy looks up, and Jem watches recognition flash over his features. Tessa says hello, the kind of hello that tells Jem that they're familiar with each other, but not in the best way. He says hello back, kind of, he really just looks at her like he knows who was in her bed last night, and then Tessa’s pulling out pound notes from her wallet when his gaze slips past Tessa and falls onto Jem. There’s no visible change of emotion in his features, but Jem can practically feel his eyes move down his body, his messy hair and too-big jean jacket and skinny jeans and runners, and yeah, Jem wants to throw him some kind of sneaky look that might just let this guy know he’s been checking him out for the last year and a bit, but he wimps out before he can even start, and he drills Tessa as soon as she sits down and presses his latte into his hands. 

“You know him? I've been harbouring a crush on the guy who makes our coffee for months and you _know him_? And you haven't told me?” Jem clears a spot for his drink and sets it down. He contemplates whether or not he should take a photo of it. 

Tessa sighs and admits that she does knows him, he's Will Herondale, apparently, and he's in half of her classes, given that they share a major. They talk, sometimes, enough that Tessa knows he had ended a relationship with a Gabriel Lightwood a little over half a year ago.

“How’ve you never had a class together before?” Jem asks when she’s done. 

Tessa shrugs. “We must’ve. I guess I just never noticed him.” 

Jem doesn’t really think anyone could _miss_ Will Herondale, but he doesn’t question it. 

“He’s actually incredibly smart. I read his paper on Two Cities last week, and Jem, I don’t think I have ever read a conclusion that both concludes without ever saying ‘and in conclusion,’ and reads like goddamn honey. And his analysis... The things I would do for that boy if he was straight.” 

Jem rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee. He’s still riding the I-know-his-name high; and what a name it is. That night, Jem stands in his room, in boxers and a too-small yellow t-shirt, imagining the name Will Herondale, and the person behind it. Imagines the way he would draw it out on an intake of breath, imagines the way the Ls would last forever. And then, inevitably, he hears Will’s voice repeat his name, Jem, no, _James,_ how he would repeat it and repeat it, under his breath, yelling it out to the world. _Jem, Jem, Jem, Jem._ This Jem, real life Jem, standing in his room in boxers and a too-small yellow t-shirt, is falling apart, he’s disintegrating at the very thought of Will Herondale saying his name. He sits down and helps it along.

.

“You’re Jem, right? Jem Carstairs?” Will asks a few days later, picking up a cup and pulling the lid of his sharpie off between his teeth. He grabs a sticky note off a pad beside the register in preparation to write Jem’s order down for a to-stay cup. 

“Yeah. It’s James, technically, but Jem’s fine,” Jem says, and he’s hoping he’s not stuttering too much, hoping Will won’t notice how much he’s freaking out. 

“I’m Will, but I’m pretty sure you already know that.” Will’s grinning, and Jem can feel himself start to blush. This is already too much for him. “You want a medium extra-hot latte with no whip, right?”

“Um. Yes. Please.” Jem’s pretty sure everyone in the cafe can hear him making a spectacular mess of talking to his crush and is laughing at him. He recovers himself a little, enough to ask “You remember my drink?” 

“Well, yeah, you’re in here at least three times a week and you always get the same thing.” He leans over the counter a little and lowers his voice. “Plus, you’re the hottest guy here. You’re pretty hard to forget.” 

Jem’s just standing there. He can’t hear anything. He can’t breathe. Someone’s reached into his chest and pulled out his lungs, messed with his heart. It’s not pumping right. There’s no way it could manage to contract and send blood to wherever it needs to go after that. _You’re pretty hard to forget._

“Wait, shit, did I freak you out? You’re into guys, right? Tessa said you’re into guys.” Will reaches for Jem’s arm, all subconscious and comforting. He looks genuinely concerned, and ready to catch Jem when he faints, which he’s pretty sure he’s about to do. He’s past the point of swooning.

“No, no, you’re fine, I was just surprised,” Jem says, and he’s almost confident that his voice isn’t as shaky as it is in his head. He kind of leans into the hand on his arm to reinforce his words, and gives Will a shaky smile. 

“Really? Okay, I guess I’m sorry for surprising you then. Let me get your latte for you?”  

“No, Will, you really don’t have to. It’s okay.”  

“Look, I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you for almost two years, so just let me buy your latte. It’s the least I can do.” Will says, and Jem can’t believe this, he can’t believe that he’s been sitting there waiting for something to happen at the same time that Will’s been standing behind the counter waiting for something to happen. Jem’s sure Will’s thought about how his name would sound on Jem’s tongue. How Jem would taste on his tongue. Jem sure has, at the very least.  

“Sure. If you insist.” 

Will grins, that crazy grin, and pulls a few coins out of his pocket and deposits them into the machine, and moves to the espresso machine. Jem follows him, rests his elbows on the little ledge separating them, and watches. Jem really can't help but stare at his hands when he handles the espresso machine to make Jem's latte, look at his slim fingers spin nobs and flick levers with an unexplainable finesse, revel in the way he pulls this magic latte out of his magic fingers. Jem never thought steaming milk could be so attractive.  

Will pours the shot of espresso in, then the steamed milk, moving its container as he pours so when he hands the drink to Jem, there’s a heart in the froth. 

“Oh my god. You didn’t.”  

Will shrugs, and Jem takes a sip. It’s a little different than usual, not a bad different, but a little sweeter, tastes a little like...  

“Did you put vanilla in this?” Jem asks.  

“I put in a shot of vanilla when you weren’t looking.” Will says, shooting Jem that sly smile of his. It’s like he’s in on some kind of secret, something only you and him will ever know. 

Jem smiles back, tells Will he’ll see him soon and heads back to the table before his heart explodes. 

. 

Jem sits down, opens up the lid of his laptop. His half-written paper is blaring in front of him, and he reads it over, fixes a few mistakes. He scrolls down to where he last stopped, and tries to continue, but he just can’t. He’s distracted, and he thinks he knows why. So, instead, he reads emails and replies to the ones that need to be replied to, gets caught up on his reading. And even _that’s_ hard to concentrate on. So Jem drinks his glorious vanilla latte as slow as he can manage, and then closes the lid of his laptop and stuffs everything away in his messenger bag. Will’s somewhere in the back, Jem’s checked, so he slips out the door and starts down the sidewalk towards home. 

“Hey, Carstairs!” Jem hears a voice call from behind him, hears the door shut, and he stops and turns around to see Will rushing towards him, jacket half on, bag wide open and falling off his shoulder. There's a coffee in his other hand, and there is no doubt in Jem's mind this is not going to end well.

“Here, let me take this…” Jem says quietly, taking the one step it takes to get to him and takes the messenger bag from his shoulder, and swings it over his shoulder so it rests beside his own bag.

“Hm, thanks. Let me walk you home?” Will asks, a little more timid then Jem is used to. A little distracted. His hair is messy and Jem wants to run his hands through it, pat it down a little. He smiles instead, says sure, and starts down the sidewalk.

It's turns out Will is way too easy to talk to. He's funny, the sarcastic kind, the kind where Jem feels like he kind of needs to keep him in check. He doesn't, yet, but he laughs, and he makes Will laugh too.

The walk takes barely any time at all, and then they're at the door of Jem's building.

“So, um, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jem says. He’s not quite sure how this is supposed to continue. What’s supposed to happen next. 

Will smiles and says goodbye, then turns at the bottom step and rushes back up to Jem. He takes his hand.

“I would ask if you wanted to go out for coffee, but that wouldn't be much of a date considering we see each other over coffee almost everyday, so I was thinking.” Will cuts off, realizes he's been rambling. Looks up. 

“Would you like to have dinner sometime? This weekend? With me? I'm not working on Saturday and there's this great Korean place in the West End?” Will looks hopeful, smiling like he's doesn't know all your secrets, like he doesn't care about them at all. Jem nods, once, twice. They exchange phone numbers, and Jem gives Will back his messenger bag, and then a kiss on the cheek before he leaves. 

.

Jem closes the apartment door behind him quickly, and leans backwards into the door, pushes his back to it, trying to catch his breath, trying to slow his heartbeat. He moves away slowly, latches the door behind him, hangs his jacket and bag up on their respective hooks. Jem wants to head straight to his room, to get rid of some of his stuff, to process that he was just asked out by _Will Herondale_. He’s been asked out by the guy he’s been daydreaming about for _years._

“What's got you so excited? Is there some famous violinist coming to town again?” Tessa asks, setting down the book she’d been reading. Jem leans on the doorframe at the entrance to their living room.

“How could you tell?” Jem doesn't think he was doing anything to give it away, nothing too obvious at least. But Tessa _has_ known him for what feels like his whole life, and she is oddly good at reading people. She can read Jem like any book on her shelf.   

“You were doing your happy walk when you got in. And you haven't taken off your scarf yet. That's practically the first thing you do. And you've got this faraway look in your eyes,” Tessa says, setting her mug down and wiggling her fingers in the air, apparently her idea of a “faraway look”.

“I've got a date.” Jem says. Deadpans. Swings the scarf he forgot to take off off his neck and flings it onto the chair closest to him.  

Tessa's eyes practically bulge out of her head. “With who?” 

Jem folds his arms over his chest, a little smug. He lifts his eyebrows, like he’s daring Tessa to guess.

_“With who?”_ She asks again. Jem’s sure she knows. She just wants to hear him say it. 

“Will Herondale.”

“Oh my God, Jem! When? _When?_ ” Tessa's talking a little louder and a little faster than she usually does, kind of like how she does when something’s happened in her book.  

“This Saturday.”

“God, that's barely two days from now, we've got to get you a haircut, and you need a new shirt, and new trousers. Do you have nice shoes? I don't think you do,” Tessa says, standing. She's counting things off on her fingers

“Jesus, Tessa, I have a perfectly adequate pair of shoes. And I got my hair cut last week.”

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” Tessa grabs her empty mug from the table, and moves towards the kitchen. “Do you want any tea? I've a fresh pot right here.”

“Mm, no, thanks. I just had a latte.” 

“Of course you have. You have got to tell me everything when I’m back.” Tessa calls from the kitchen. 

Jem sighs, and flops down in the chair closest to him. He doesn’t think Saturday could come fast enough.

.

He’s right; the next day, Thursday, lasts forever, and Jem makes a special trip to the coffee shop in the afternoon. Will smiles at him, beams at him, and tells him his latte is on the house. 

Jem can't make it on Friday, he'd promised to help Tessa build a new bookshelf from Ikea, and he’s tutoring someone later, so by the time he gets home, it's an hour past closing time. Jem checks his phone. There’s one missed message.

_where were you today? missed u :( we still on for tomorrow?_

Jem smiles and types something out.

_AWwww !! Missed you and your lattes too! And yeah, I'm off work at 2 :-) Tessa's been playing dress up with me for the last couple days_

_I'll pick you up at 5. And anythings good with me as long as it makes your ass look even better than it already is ;)_

_you think I have a nice ass???_

_I have been dreaming about that thing since the first day you walked in and ordered a medium extra hot latte with no whip_

_thanks? I think? You have a nice ass too, btw._

_thanks carstairs_

_no problem herondale._  

Jem waits a minute, two minutes, and then sends a _< 3_. 

.

The days turn, Friday night becomes Saturday morning, morning drifts into afternoon, and Jem finds himself standing in front of his closet. He tries on so many things the colours start to muddle into nonsense, but he settles on a pale blue button up decorated with pink polka dots that Tessa’d gotten him for his last birthday, and throws on a dark grey blazer, slim cut and flattering. He brushes his hair, attempts to style it. He's all done and set by the time Will announces his arrival via a hard knock at the door, and Jem can hear him and Tessa chat from the washroom. He yells an “I'm coming!” and checks his reflection one last time. Good enough.

He whips into the living room, where his scarf and gloves were thrown when he'd gotten home. Will's standing and talking, and kind of stops mid-sentence when Jem walks in. Jem feels himself blush as Will eyes him, from his still socked feet to his silvery hair and flat out grins. Will has a jacket on, so Jem can't fully admire him until they get to the restaurant. They say goodbye to Tessa as Jem wraps his scarf around his neck and zips up his coat. It's grey, and wool, and warm.

They're both kind of smiling giddily as they walk out of the building, silent, until Will stops Jem and turns him around.

“You look so good. Like _so_ good.”

Jem can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, can practically feel his capillaries dilating, staining his pale face a light pink.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” he starts, aiming for a smile that doesn't give away how nervous he is. “I'd say you look good too, but you're wearing that coat. Or, sorry, I meant I bet you look even better without it.”

Will laughs and tells him thanks. They head toward the tube station, and the carriage’s packed. A middle-aged lady wearing an oversized green coat sees them, and offers her seat and the empty one beside it to them. She tells them they must be very much in love, and when Will tells her it’s only their first date, she smiles and says that she’s sure they’ll last a long time.  

Jem tries to imagine how they look together as his knee bumps into Will’s, two guys, barely men, one with hair the colour of outer space, somehow nothing and everything all at once, curls spilling out over his undercut, and the other, _him_ , pewter hair thrown into amessy excuse for a quiff, red scarf stark against his pale skin.  

He hopes the lady was onto something. 

.

The restaurant is a Korean place shoved between two buildings. It's long and narrow, and Jem and Will sit at the front near the windows. Jem lets Will order for him, and in ten minutes, a steaming and sizzling hot pot is set before him. It's rice and vegetables and meat and some kind of sauce arranged neatly in a piping hot bowl, with a raw egg cracked over top.

Jem’s had enough asian food in his life to know to stir the lot of it around with the spoon, he knows that’s going to mix the egg into the gooey mixture and cook it. Jem squirts a little bit of sriracha in, and then picks up his chopsticks and digs in.

It's good. Like, _really_ good. Like top ten favourite foods good. And this is coming from a half-Chinese man who grew up with traditional Chinese and Asian dishes, made by his mother and grandparents and family. It's a little spicy, which Jem loves, and the whole cook-your-own-egg thing is exciting. 

The first thing Will comments on is Jem's superb handle on chopsticks. This is, of course, right as Jem's gotten a clump of rice and egg to his mouth when Will's failing miserably to pick up a piece of pork.

Jem laughs, and picks up some rice and veggies, and before he can think against it, moves his chopsticks to Will’s mouth. It feels a little weird to Jem, but everything’s feeling a little weird to him lately, and when Will closes his mouth and swallows Jem can feel himself blush. Will’s a little red, and he laughs kind of self-deprecatingly before he tries to manage his chopsticks again. 

“That was weird. Sorry,” Jem says, rushing to get food back in his mouth so he doesn’t need to say anything else. 

Will smiles, this wonderful smile that Jem’s still not used to, doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, and dips his hand into his bowl and comes back out with his chopsticks held perfectly, a wad of rice and beef and egg balanced perfectly. He smiles again as he’s chewing, this one a little smug.  

“You asshole!” Jem says, a little aghast, but not overly offended. “You took advantage ofme!” 

Will’s laughing now, covering his mouth with his chopstick hand. “I knew you’d do it, too.”

“Oh my god. I’m so embarrassed.” Jem knows he’s grinning, he can’t really help it, and he’s not surprised when he starts laughing.

“Don’t be,” Will says, quietly, blushing. The restaurant’s packed, with people and heat and noise, Will and Jem tucked in beside the window, the cool winter air pressing in against the glass beside them, and Will slides his hand across the table to rest over Jem’s. Jem’s breath hitches, he pauses mid-sentence, and he finishes his story, squeezing Will’s fingers. He trails his toes up Will’s calf in response.

Jem finishes his food slowly, drawing out the moment for as long as he can. Will doesn’t take any obvious offense; he scoops the last of his rice long after Jem’s bowl’s been taken away and replaced with a steaming cup of green tea. 

In fact, the rest of the night is slow, slow as they eat and leave the restaurant, slow as make their way down the busy street. Jem never put his gloves back on when they got outside, and Will’s not wearing any, so Jem doesn’t even think when he slides their fingers together, and then a little later when Jem’s fingers start to go a little red from the cold, Will slips their hands in his pocket, and Jem slips in a little closer. 

He doesn’t think he’ll be cold anytime soon.  

“You want to head to my my place?” Will asks suddenly, turning to Jem. “My housemates are all out tonight.” 

Jem knows what he’s offering, and he’s not usually one to go home with someone on the first date, but he’s nodding despite himself, and lets Will pull him in the right direction. 

.

Will barely unlocks the door, barely tumbles in, before Jem’s on him, pinning him to the wall. There’s a moment when their eyes lock, and Jem’s thinking _I’m gonna kiss him_ and _he’s gonna kiss me,_ and then, all at once, it’s happening, Will’s lips are cold and bruising, his fingers frosty where the ghost over Jem’s jaw. Jem pushes forward, ignoring the cold, trying to ignore the layers and layers of clothes between them when Will pushes him back a little, so their foreheads are just barely touching. 

“My room?” Will says, breath hot on Jem’s skin. 

Jem blinks, once, slowly, and pulls away so he can unbutton his jacket and take off his scarf, and follows Will down the hallway, throws his coat on the same chair Will does in the living room, into his room. 

Jem doesn't think he can tell the colour of the walls in Will's room. The walls are lined with books, books arranged neatly in some places, books piled haphazardly in others. Jem can't make out the titles of them in the dim light. There's some other stuff too, some sketchbooks and DVDs, and a pile of CDs. A desk is pushed to the corner of the room, papers covering the entire surface. It's a mess. Jem has to step over piles of stuff to sit down on Will's bed.

Will sits down beside him. Jem slides his fingers through Will's, and turns to rest his head on Will's shoulder.

“I really like you,” Will says. Quietly. So that only Jem can hear him.

Jem smiles and it's the easiest thing to tilt his head to kiss Will, to move his hand to his hip, another to cup his jaw. The kiss is slow, languid, all lips and getting to know each other's mouths. Will leans out of the kiss, rests his forehead against Jem's. 

Jem whispers, almost into Will's lips, “I really like you too.”

Jem can feel Will grinning, and then his hands are rough as they hold on to Jem's jaw, kissing him slowly. It's a damn near perfect first kiss, no, second, third, fourth, and it gets even better when Will sucks Jem's bottom lip between his own. Jem doesn't try to hide the little whimper that escapes from his throat, lets Will open his lips with his tongue.

They kiss like this for a while, open mouthed and hungry and never ending. Jem slides his hand up and under Will's shirt, and moves his mouth so he can kiss Will's jaw, neck, unbuttoning his shirt enough so he can work at his collarbone too.

And then Will pulls away, _fuck,_ and he unbuttons his shirt just enough so he can pull it over his head. Will pulls Jem back in a little too quick, a little too sloppy, but Jem doesn't mind. He doesn't mind getting to smooth his hands down Will's back, over hard muscle and hot skin, winding his fingers through soft black curls, the short, buzzed hair of his undercut.

Jem doesn't realize until it's happened that Will is over top of him. That he’s lying down and Will’s straddling his waist, that Will's hands are under his shirt, and pushing up, up, up, until Jem’s pulling his own shirt off, tossing it somewhere over the edge of the bed. 

Will doesn’t wait a second before diving back in, peppering wet, open-mouthed kisses down the line of Jem’s neck and across his collarbone. Jem doesn’t really know what to do with his hands, so he brings them down to rest on Will’s back, running them up and down the hard muscle of his shoulders as he lifts his chin so Will can suck red marks underneath his jaw. 

There’s fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans, and Jem lets Will loop his fingers through the belt loops and pulls, pulls until Jem’s in nothing but his socks. Jem tries to reach and push Will’s jeans down his hips, but doesn’t really work from where he is, pinned beneath him, so Will stands up and takes care of his pants himself. 

Jem hoists himself up so he’s on his elbows, watching the shift of the muscles in Will’s back, the hard line of it in his thighs. Jem doesn’t quite understand how Will’s not bulky, how his shoulders aren’t broad like olympic swimmers. Will turns around, heading back to the bed, back to Jem, and notices him staring. 

“I play volleyball,” he says, by way of explanation. Jem nods. 

“Could I watch you play sometime?” Jem asks. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course you could.” Wills says quietly, lifting a hand up to scratch the back of his head. 

_He’s nervous,_ Jem realizes. He didn’t ever think to equate Will Herondale with being nervous. 

Will maneuvers himself back on the bed, and before he can say anything, Jem rolls so _he’s_ on top of him, it’s _him_ straddling Will’s waist.   

Jem grins at Will, hoping its a fraction as bright as Will’s brightest smiles, and Will smiles back, and Will’s straining up to meet Jem, and Jem’s leaning down to meet him, lips smashing and tongues colliding as they both reach between, fingers knocking, melting into the hands between their legs before Jem squeezes his eyes shut, head down in the crook of Will’s neck, as night explodes into day. 

.

There’s light slanting in through the window over the bed when Jem wakes up, falling in tight, straight lines until it meets the piles of sheets on the bed, the clothes forgotten on the floor. 

Jem sits up, rubs his eyes, and runs a hand through his hair, which he figures is beyond crazy right now. The spot beside him is empty, and Jem flops back on the bed just as Will pushes the door open. He’s wearing nothing but the boxers he’d put on before they’d fallen asleep last night, and Jem can’t help but notice the red marks littering his neck.

“Good morning,” Will says, quietly, and his usual grin has shrunk a little, into a tiny smile that Jem thinks might be something he doesn’t give a lot of people. 

Jem scoots over so Will can slide in beside him, throwing him some of the covers. He shivers at the warmth of Will’s chest when it makes contact with Jem’s back, and he pushes backwards into Will, snuggling into him, and Will obliges, he throws an arm over Jem’s waist and pulls him closer, kissing his neck. 

Will’s fingers are warm, the skin from his lips to his toes is warm, and it’s lulling Jem back to sleep, rocking him away to another world, when Will mumbles something into his ear:

“You want a coffee?”

Jem laughs, he laughs and rolls over so he can press his forehead into Will’s when he whispers “Yeah, I’ll have a coffee.”  

Will smiles, that small smile that’s somehow so much bigger than his grin, so much bigger than the sun, and leans in to kiss the corner of Jem’s mouth. 

“It’s on the house.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. the korean place is REAL! if youre ever in london, its in the west end basically across the street from victoria station
> 
> 2\. I am the middle aged lady. hands up youre heronstairs trash. 
> 
> 3\. I haven't gone to university yet, so I'm really sorry if i butchered the lingo or whatever!! i have no idea what i'm doing. 
> 
> 4\. i'm on tumblr @emkayss, if youre at all interested 
> 
> 5\. thanks for reading!!! :)


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